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9*

turned to look at the negro man who was approaching from
the direction of the little dilapidated yellow shed that bore
the sign "Monclair Crossing." The negro man took off his
hat, and said, " Tse come atter you all."

" That's fine," Mr. Munn replied.

The negro picked up the valise, and led them toward the
carriage, which stood beyond the yellow shed.

"Hit's gonna snow," the negro said; "yassuh, 'fore Gawd."

The train whistled for the cut, far away now to the east.
Mr. Munn turned toward the east, toward that almost
inaudible sound, but the train was out of sight now; and the
track, curving into the distance to find a gap in the low
ridges, made those broad, empty fields seem more empty still.

"I wish it had snowed for Christmas," May said, as the
carriage pulled into the lane. "Christmas isn't really Christ-
mas without snow, and it never seems to snow on Christmas
any more."

Mr. Munn said nothing, but watched her face as she lifted
it pensively again toward the sky.

" Not like when I was little. When it snows now—and it
snowed a little bit two Christmases ago—I like to sit by the
window with nobody else in the room and look at it coming
down outside. It makes me feel the way I did when I was
little, when it snowed on Christmas. Everything ought to be
different on Christmas—and when I was little I used to wake
up long before day and before anybody else woke up, and lie
in my bed and wait for the window to get a little light, may-
be, and for somebody to get up, and I would be sure that
when day did come and I got up, everything, the whole
world, would be different. And if there was snow on the
ground, everything would be different."

Mr. Munn looked at the stooped back of the negro man
on the front seat. Then he leaned and put his mouth close
to his wif e's ear. " I love you," he whispered.

She nodded. Then, as though recollecting, she said, " You
weren't paying any attention, you're making fun of me,"

"No," he denied